


Unmade bed

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 13:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4524000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demons can't sleep, but sometimes they have the need find something to replace it. For Crowley, it happened to be...The afterglow of sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unmade bed

**Author's Note:**

> Just exploiting a silly headcanon of mine, or why the demons cannot sleep. I'm also all for the "they can sleep but it's recreational" theory, but this one was fun to write into a crobby context. 
> 
> And i did it! I translated one of my silly, fluffy drabble originally written in french! Hooray! Guess i'm not that bad at it. If you find any mistakes though, just say it! Some might have stayed even after the beta reading of the fantastic Funyrinpa (oh, what all my crobby junk will be without you my dear).

Angels and demons seem to be similar on many points, but there is a major difference: demons have been, at some point, humans. Thus, they do remember what they have been in the past. The more they live in Hell, the less they remember, but they all have something that they miss, like a residual from humanity. It's a hollow sensation which weight on them, like a reminiscence, a ghost that you can't exorcize.

Crowley always liked to sleep.

In his past life, he used to sleep way too much. Needless to say, alcohol didn't help, but at the same time, he loved that feeling when he slipped into the cottony sensation induced by it. He felt asleep anywhere, but the best was when he succeeded to climb into a bed: there, enveloped by the tender heat of the sheets, he could close his eyes and forget for a few hours his pitiful life.

Since the first time he opened them in Hell, he tried to find something close to this sensation. He tried everything, from alcohol to drugs, but neither of those substances had an impact strong enough on him, blame his lack of soul. The closest thing he could reach was the afterglow of sex. Only then he managed to slip away, let go and forget everything. Of course, it was far from being as much pleasurable, and he never got enough of it. Therefore, he posed as a paragon of lust who would make Lillith's followers blush, except that he wasn't looking for the vice itself (even if he liked this little game), but for what was coming after.

Moreover, Crowley was almost old fashioned, in the sense that he didn't like the idea of having many one-night stands. He preferred regular lovers and friends with benefits that he clung up to once the perfect one was found, until he got bored of them and threw them away to find another. It was way easier to have a bit of chemistry in bed, it avoided deceptions because in the end, they knew his little habits.

He had no hunting-ground of predilection, and always found them leafing through unordinary places, from a business meeting were he was about to seal a pact to the middle of Jordan. He knew from experience that bizarre alchemy was most of the time the promise of a prolific intimate collaboration.

Why not an old hunter from the deep down South Dakota?

All began in such a peculiar way. The king of the crossroads, in his “integrity”, didn't like to sleep with a soul he had just bought. But Bobby was his little exception. From the heated kiss they exchanged, he knew by the chill that ran down his spine that he was made for him. He didn't mind his appearance, role, or even his doubtful taste in whiskey: he was above all those considerations, only following his predatory instinct. So he came back in this old house nearby the local salvage yard, many, many times, throwing as much innuendos as he could, and one day, bless the cheap rotgut, his prey gave in. The first time was clumsy, unforeseen, but yet, explosive. And when he accidentally rested his head against his heavy chest, he didn't remember the last time he felt so relaxed in centuries.

The addiction was quickly put up, supported by a tacit agreement, another kind of silent deal between the hunter and the demon. They took what they needed from the other, and it stopped there. Because from the beginning, Crowley felt the same absence, or more precisely, a sort of contained urge in Bobby. He was craving for physical contact, even if he didn't know where it came from, and honestly, he didn't care about it anyway. But like him, he found in this arrangement and his surprising bestiality a perfect way out. Once the door of the bedroom was closed, he turned into a savage animal, meeting the want of the demon to be cared and overwhelmed by pleasure. It was fire and water meeting on a kitchen floor, making the whole room steamy, a story of perfect completion of needs.

But something evolved between them over time: their complicity began to extend into their daily lives. Sometimes, before making love, they would talk over a drink or two for hours, without regretting this lost moment that they could have passed in well, a more productive activity. It was almost a form of domesticity that both appreciated. After all, why not? Crowley was an opportunist, and if the lover was also an attentive listener, he could also take it. It wasn't called a fuck _buddy_ for nothing.

However, the repercussions it had when they fucked together was... odd. Bobby stopped to be brutal, and became way more gentle. It wasn't unpleasant, but Crowley wasn't used to it. There were all those sweet nothings whispered at his ear, all those “Is this okay? I'm not hurting you? And here, it's better?” which didn't send him feverish chills, but a vague sensation in his stomach that he couldn't identify. Often, he took him into his arms, gently cuddling naked on an unmade bed, petting his hair or kissing his cheeks, his forehead... He was so kind, in a way that he would have qualified to be _sickly sweet_ with anyone else, but with him it helped to reach another way to calm down. And then he was smiling, closing his eyes, satisfied by all his attentions.

 

* * *

 

It was an evening like any other. His day in Hell had been rough, and it was the best moment for a courtesy call. Bobby was asleep on the couch, books sprawled everywhere across the floor. “This old fool will kill himself one day”, he thought, as he snapped his finger to clean his mess. A few months ago, he would simply have left to came back later when he was awake, but for a reason that he preferred to ignore, he just sat on the armrest at the opposite side, and observed him sleeping. His chest raising up and down had something soothing and familiar. As he observed this spectacle, he asked himself how much he had already spat on his own demoniac nature in his presence.

To be honest, he cared much more for him than he would like to admit. When he was dealing with some delicate king's business, his mind was wandering somewhere else. It was wandering here. He didn't always wished for sex: sometimes he just wished for his bed, his arms, his lips... His presence. He couldn't explain why, but somehow, this old hunter was becoming his home, the one you like to come back to after a long day of work.

Crowley was cut off from his stupid and quite cheesy train of thought when Bobby moved a bit, groaning slightly. He opened his eyes, and almost jumped when he saw his lover observing him from above, nearly like a bird of prey.

“What are ya doin' here?  
\- Nothing, I was just waiting for you to wake up. Good evening, Robert.  
\- Yeah, hi. But don't ever do this to me again, I almost had an attack!”

He was smiling like he used to, but his playful smirk was a mask. The demon didn't want to show the softness he had for something as ridiculously pointless as his hair all messed up. He saw the hunter trying to get up, but before he could, he slipped from the armrest to the couch itself, approaching him to give one of those “hello darling” kisses. Bobby welcomed him gladly, deepened it, and embraced him with his habitual, reassuring tenderness. When they parted, Crowley instinctively took off his vest and loosened his tie and then, simply _stopped_. He knew perfectly where this habit came from, but... That wasn't what he wanted tonight.

He didn't want to waste his energy for that sort of activities. He just wanted to lay here near him, sharing warmness and maybe, quietly, some silly thoughts. It was enough for him to relax, to let go. The king of Hell reassured himself on his nature: laziness was a deadly sin as much as lust, nothing to be ashamed of, right?

“Are you alright?  
\- Yes darling, but it's just... I don't want to do it tonight.  
\- Excuse me?!”

He stretched out his hand to put it on the demon's forehead, almost amused. Like he could catch a cold…

“You're cute when you think I'm human.  
\- And that was insulting.”

He simply chuckled a bit, straightened up his back, and took him in his arms, his back against his torso. The hunter's beard was scratching the top of his head, and he sighed in relief.

“...You don't mind?  
\- No. Well it's a lil' bit weird comin' from you, but if you don't wanna, I'm not going to force you.  
\- Thanks. The night and days are long in Hell, and it's mentally tiring you know, I'm on my nerves lately and I just want to rest.  
\- I understand but you don't need any justifications y'a know. And I wasn't against the idea of layin' down here a bit more actually.  
\- Oh…”

He smiled, turned his head a bit and kissed him on the cheek as a “thank you”. Not a word was exchanged then, and slowly, both of them closed their eyes. As he listened to his calming heartbeat,Crowley almost believed for a second, that he was falling asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> The title actually come from a Sonic youth song.  
> Hope you enjoyed it, i might translate more one shot of mine. As for the longer one, well... I don't know, i might wait to be better at it!


End file.
